Fading Slowly
by IndieWrites
Summary: If given a second chance at life, to do anything you wanted, would you take it? After a tragedy, Harry is given just that: a second chance. But there's a catch- a time limit. Will he and Draco have enough time to right their wrongs? Full Summary inside
1. Chapter 1 You're Always Here

**Disclaimer:** Characters in this story are creative property of JK Rowlings. Any OCs and this plotline are mine, however. The Title of this story, and each chapter are taken from "Already Over" by Red. No copyright infringement is intended in any way, shape or form.

**Rating: **M for language, some blood, adult situation (including some smut), heavy angst and character death.

**Pairings:** Harry Potter/ Draco Malfoy; Ron/Hermione (nothing graphic there, though.) Mentions of HP/GW and DM/AG(past)

**Inspiration:** "Already Over" by Red.

**Summary:** What if you were given a second chance at life, to do anything you wanted to? Would you take it? When tragedy strikes, Harry is offered just that- a second chance. Hoping to right some wrongs and d things right, he takes it. Only to find there is a catch. A big one. With time running out and fate against him, can he do all he wants with the time he has left? And how will Draco feel when he learns the one man he despised may just be the key to his happiness?

**A/N: **This turned out to be my NaNo project this year. I personally love this story line. I haven't read one like this so far, so I hope it is unique in that form. It's pretty intense and will remain so throughout the fict. Not much fluff, I'm sorry. If you have read either of my latest ficts -Foolish Games, or Shattered, you will find that Draco in this one is very different than in the other two. Once again, I find him to be a deep character, even more so after seeing interviews and footage from DHPt1. So this will explore another side of both his, and Harry's characters. It is DH compliant, even the epilogue, up to a point.

I will be updating this one once a week. The final three chapters are all that is left to be written. FG and Shattered will be updated once every other week.

I hope you enjoy this whirlwind of a ride.

* * *

**Fading Slowly**

_**Chapter 1**_**_ - You're Always Here Suffocating Me_****  
**

_July 2005_

"The term starts September 1st, of course. I ask that you be here no later than August 25th. As you will be taking over Slytherlin's house duties, it is imperative that you be settled completely _before_ the students arrive." Minerva McGonagall's hearty voice floated throughout her office. Draco Malfoy nodded robotically. It wasn't as if he was unaware of Hogwart's stipulations. He had been a student here not too long ago. He mentally rolled his eyes, but remained a respectful silence. Malfoys, no matter how bored they might be, always maintained proper manners.

Sometimes Draco wished he wasn't a Malfoy. He wondered briefly what the Headmistress would do if he called her an old furball. He allowed himself a small smirk before refocusing his attention back on his 'boss.'

"Now, I believe you know most of our professors here. However, we do have one newcomer in addition to yourself. He too is Hogwart's alumni. I know in the past you have not seen eye to eye," she paused and Draco's mind spun. "But I ask that you now practice maturity and work together as professionals. He will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for the year. He'll also be our assistant Quiddich coach."

Draco cringed. There was only one man in all of the Wizarding world that would fit that description. _"Shite,"_ he thought harshly. _"It's got to be Potter."_ Unable to stop a sneer from marring his pointy features, he nodded once again.

"Don't worry, Headmistress. Potter and I should be fine, as long as he stays out of my way. After all, we are adults now."

Minerva lifted an eyebrow and smiled grimly. "Exactly. I expect you two to act as such. The war is long over, and our school is striving to promote peace and unity. The professors are essential in setting the right example. I think you will find the attitudes around here vastly improved over when you attended."

"I'm glad to hear it, Headmistress. And thank you for extending this opportunity to me. It is most appreciated," Draco said politely. He pasted on a small smile and stood. Holding out his hand, he waited for Minerva to take it in an obligatory shake. She did so with an answering smile.

"Well, from what I hear, we are quite lucky to have you as Potions Master. I understand you rival your late mentor in your craft." Her eyes briefly dimmed, touching the portrait of the late Professor Snape hanging on the wall. He was watching the interactions with his usual sneer. Draco followed her gaze and dipped his head.

"I'm not sure about that, truly. However, I strive to do my best," he answered in acknowledgement. Minerva turned back to him, releasing his hand and smoothing down her robes.

"That's all I ask, Professor Malfoy. Welcome to Hogwarts. I'll see you in a few weeks."

* * *

Draco sank into his chair with a groan. Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he swirled his glass of well aged Firewhisky before lifting it to his lips and taking a sip. He heard his fireplace sputter and closed his eyes.

"Explain to me again how I let you convince me this was a good idea," he said tiredly.

"It will get you out of this depressing place and add a little life back into you," a sweet voice answered. "Besides, you have to admit, you have been rather mopey since the divorce."

Draco rolled his head and opened his eyes. "But Pansy, I don't even like kids. I recall how horrible we all were, and I don't suppose this new generation will be any better."

Pansy sank into a chair and pulled off her gloves. She gave him a short smirk. "This generation isn't too far from our own, you know. You act as if you're an old man. We've barely touched twenty-five," she rolled her eyes at him. "You've lost your spark, love. It's simply depressing to see."

Draco looked around him, his gaze sweeping the entirety of the living room. He had to admit, she was right. He had fallen into a rut. A boring existence filled with nothingness. He'd scream if he had to continue on this road. Perhaps, this change of pace would be good for him, in all reality. Besides, how hard could teaching the little brats not to blow themselves up actually be?

He allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "You will never guess who else has been dragged into this mess of Professor-ship," he said, leaning forward.

Pansy leaned forward as well, her eyes glittering with curiosity. "Two new professors? Must be someone interesting, by the look on your face, dear."

Draco nodded, his smile turning feral. "Oh yes, most interesting. Somehow, McGonagall managed to rope in _Potter_ of all people." He waited for the expected reaction. Pansy's eyes widened and she gave a horrified gasp. Draco only smiled harder. However, the next words out of her mouth were not what he expected.

"That's impossible, Draco." She shook her head as if to confirm her words. "Potter's dead. He can't possibly be teaching."

Draco's pinched features grew dark, his eyes widening in rival of Pansy's own. "What?" he exclaimed.

Pansy sat back quickly. "Or at least missing. Has been for over a year. How could you not know this, Dray? It was in all the papers."

Draco rubbed a hand over his face and then shoved it into his hair. He tugged at the light strains for a second in a very uncharacteristic fashion. He bit his lip and frowned. "Dead or missing, which is it, Pans?"

"Missing, presumed dead. At least that's what Granger said the last time we had tea," she replied.

Again, Draco's expression turned shocked. "Tea? With the Mud… er…Granger?"

Her lips lifting in a comical grin, Pansy gave Draco a look of annoyance. "Yes, Draco. Tea. With Granger. She's not half bad, you know. We work together after all. It's nice to have another woman to talk to once in a while." She waved her hand around, as if to clear the next remark Draco moved to make. "Anyway, the point it, Potter disappeared almost a year ago, and every attempt to find him has come up empty."

Clasping his hands and leaning his chin on them Draco scowled. "Perhaps the bloody Boy-Who-Lived decided to run away. Maybe he doesn't want to be found."

Pansy gave him a look that said he was just this side of insane. "Have you forgotten Potter is the epitome of Gryffindor loyalty and goodness? He wouldn't do that to his friends; he hasn't a selfish bone in his body."

Draco shrugged. He thought about all the things Harry had done over the years, especially during the final battle. No, Potter could be very Slytherlin, in fact, when the situation called for it. He smirked knowingly.

"Well," he said, "I guess we are about to find out, are we not?"

Pansy returned his look. "It appears so." She stood, brushing her hand across her skirt and retrieving her gloves. "Well, I'm off. There is a luncheon at the Palace today, and I'm part of the delegation selected to represent."

Draco yawned. "Sounds tedious," he responded.

Playfully smacking his arm, Pansy stuck out her tongue. "Yes, yes. Not all of us mind playing nice once in awhile." She took a few steps towards the floo. "Draco, do try to get out this weekend. Go to a club or something."

Draco waved his hand at her non-committally. "If I feel the need for such atrocious company, I will floo you, dear," he taunted. Pansy looked horrified before shaking her head.

"Ta, darling. Try not to kill your staff, alright?" she shot back before stepping into the floo. With a rushing noise and burst of green flame, the witch was gone, her laughter echoing after her.

Draco sat there a moment longer, pondering the reasons he allowed such a woman to have so much sway in his life. True, they had been friends since childhood, a relationship that had obviously stood the test of time. Pansy had been with him through thick and thin, taking his side when he had separated himself from his father's death grip. She had seen him at his lowest, or near that.

He shivered slightly, recalling the night of Dumbledore's death. That certainly was his lowest point. Not, he reflected, because of his failure to complete the act, but for even considering it in the first place. He had been so starved for a place to belong, for acknowledgement from the hard man he called "Father," that he willing compromised his own principles, bending his will to that of an even bigger coward.

For Voldemort could not be considered anything less. A maniacal, deranged coward. Hiding behind out-dated ideals and using a silver like tongue to whip his followers into a frenzy, he sought revenge on a child more than half his age for decimating his body out of sheer luck. The entirety of the plot was ludicrous and spoke of an idiocy not seen before or since. At least Grindelwald had some sort of purpose, beyond assassinating little boys.

Draco sighed. Life after the war hadn't been what he had thought. Married almost directly after graduation from Hogwarts, to a witch a few years younger and just as stuck-up as he used to be, all for the sake of family and propriety, was not all it was cracked up to be. The tension between the two was easy to see from the beginning. They had relatively nothing in common, unless their 'blood purity' could be counted. Personally, Draco had lost his taste for the word, and subsequently his interest in maintaining the attitude that came thus.

Old habits die hard however, and Draco, after a rather distressful lecture from his broken mother, caved into her demands. Allowing himself to be tethered to Astoria Greengrass was hell, pure and simple. A waspish woman with an angelic face, she was just as good at acting her part in public as she was denying it in private. It wasn't long before Draco found himself frustrated with his situation.

The monumental problem arose when the disastrous couple was informed of their requirement to produce the next Malfoy heir. Neither were keen on performing the act with each other. Draco for one, did not find Astoria comely in the least, while his wife had long since sought attentions elsewhere. The argument that ensued as a result was catastrophic for both their marriage and their residence.

Astoria, having undeniable murderous intentions, and more than a few marbles loose, was declared mental, and promptly installed as an inpatient at St Mungo's long term care ward. Last he had heard, she was neighbors to Neville Longbottom's mum and dad. Draco filed for divorce the next day.

Ironically, he almost felt sorry for her. He understood the pressure being considered a pure blood brought, the rules and endless expectations parents either knowingly or inadvertently placed upon their children. As the Malfoy heir, he was of no exception. And he had suffered under such social conformities.

Which brought him back around to his sixth year, and the task that was set before him. Later, much later, he discovered that Voldemort had hoped for his failure, anticipating the complete crushing weight of Draco's guilt to overwhelm the boy, rendering him that much more pliable in the Dark Lord's hands. He was simply a means to an end, specifically Lucius' end. If he succeeded, well that was certainly a plus.

What Voldemort had not foreseen was the loyalty and care Draco's godfather felt towards him. Severus Snape became the young Malfoy's saving grace, finishing the job, and facilitating his escape from Hogwarts that night. They had not counted on Harry Potter's mad dash after them, his rage and distress whipping around him in a palatable display. Draco had never seen anything quite like the fire Harry held inside him. It had terrified, intrigued and attracted him.

Walking towards the balcony window, he stood, gazing down into the garden his mother had so lovingly tended. He shook his head at the direction his thoughts had taken him. He was ultimately glad Harry's anger was directed at Snape that night. While untrained, Harry was still a force to be reckoned with. Somehow, their group of ragtag Death Eaters managed to escape, Snape taking the brunt of the boy's grief stricken rage. Severus, thereafter, refused to speak of that night. There was a grave sadness, however, that filled the harsh man's eyes.

Understanding dawned on Draco during the final battle, when Harry once again saved his pretty pale skin. The haunted look in those lovely green orbs spoke of a boy who had grown up far too fast, and was charged with the task of becoming a killer. Not unlike Draco himself. A sense of camaraderie filled Draco as he clung to Harry's back on the whizzing broom high above the dangerous fiendfyre.

He may not like the heroic Gryffindor, but he held a grudging respect for him. Standing in the relative safety of Hogwarts, he observed the fierce battle waged around him, saw those he knew well fall to their bloody deaths, some warranted, others not. A shock rolled over him when his eyes lit on the bloodied body of Harry Potter in the arms of that oaf Hagrid. The giant was actually crying. It should have been ridiculous.

It was heartbreaking instead.

Draco realized then that he put as much stock in Harry's victory as everyone else on the 'light side' did. The idea of Harry's defeat was insurmountable, completely unfathomable. Therefore, he felt nothing short of blissful relief when the proud boy showed up soon after, alive and determined to finish his task.

And finish he did. Brilliantly so. The bright flashes of light given off by two of the strongest wizards of their time were nothing compared to the passion radiating from his eyes. If looks could kill…Shaking his head, Draco smiled slightly.

Another realization came swiftly on the heels of victory. From the sidelines, in the direct aftermath of the battle, Draco had observed the Savior's reactions to everything surrounding him. He saw how his smile waned, his eyes dark and pained. The droop of his shoulders, as if he felt each death that had been committed that dark day personally. Even though his job was done, Harry Potter could not find peace.

But he strove to, for the sake of the others around him. It was this, and not the hero complex Draco had taunted him about so often, that brought Harry to the trials of his school days enemy. To say that Draco was surprised to see Harry there would be an understatement. And to hear his testimony, something that could have been damning, had he been a lesser man, it shattered a few shards of Draco's mirror-like depiction of the Golden Boy.

Still, he clung to the idea that Harry was spoiled and rather arrogant in his own way. It helped him feel justified when he did not offer his thanks later, after he and his mother had been cleared of all charges brought against them. He knew his mother had given her apologies and gratitude. But he had stubbornly refused to even look at Harry in a friendly manner. A quick nod and sneer was all he could afford.

If it bothered the young man, he did not show it. Which only served to fuel Draco's half cocked ideas of Potter's real self. Once again, he found himself shocked to his core.

Severus Snape, his beloved godfather, a brave and dangerous man, had been awarded the Order of Merlin for his efforts in the war. This was due almost solely to the demands made by the student who had hated him the most. Perhaps, Draco now reflected with a slight smile, Potter was a saint after all. No human could possibly put aside so much animosity, such long devoted hatred to obtain something so high as an award for their enemy. Especially considering what Snape's own behaviors had been towards Harry.

Sure, the snarky man was dead when all was said and done. But in this case, it was most obviously the thought that counted. And Harry's thoughts had counted for a lot. Again, Draco could only presume some things, having not actually talked to Harry about any of the events following their final departure from Hogwarts.

Last he had heard of the man, Harry was well on his way to making Head Auror. The papers both sang and criticized his actions, calling him an unfailingly noble, but deadly harsh man. It appeared the war had left more than its fair share of scars on the goody goody Gryffindor. His ruthlessness on cases had become somewhat legendary, and controversial. Especially after the Mclain case.

Draco shivered, and picked up his cup of coffee. His eyes glanced over the paper laying on the table.

That had been months ago. How could he have missed the disappearance of the Bloody Man Who Conquered? Surely the papers had reported it. Had he been so wrapped up in his own drama that he had failed to see what was happening right outside his own front door? Sighing, he knew he had.

"Pansy's right, damn her," he said with a self deprecating laugh. This new job would be good for him, in all its oddity. And perhaps, he just might figure out the mystery that was once again a man named Harry Potter.

* * *

The next few weeks flew by as Draco prepared himself for the daunting task of returning to Hogwarts. Professorship or no, the castle held memories that were both painful and bittersweet. Returning there brought them home. Taking over his godfather's place as the Head of the House of Slytherin, which had remained vacant since the man's death; it seemed like such an honor. And yet, staring up at the castle on the evening of August 24th, he could honestly say his heart broke just a bit.

Steeling his nerves and strengthening his impenetrable mask, a trademark sneer angled his lips, his eyes glinting a hard silver. His emotions were not welcome in this situation, and would remained locked away. He had a task to do, and unlike other times, he would not fail it. His name, reputation and even his self worth relied on his success.

Not to mention the moldable little minds he would soon impart his knowledge to. He snorted. How parents would react to the news of his position, he certainly had to wonder about. _**"Reformed Death Eater Teaches Next Generation."**_ Oh he could see the headlines now.

Although…if what Pansy said was true, and Potter was actually missing, only to turn up here as a Professor, his moment in the spotlight would be severely minimized.

Pity, that.

Adjusting his satchel strap on his shoulder, he passed through the main gates, their dark iron design still as awe-inspiring and intimidating as the last time he had passed through them. Although, the proud stone statues had been replaced, he noted offhandedly. Reconstruction of Hogwarts had only been completed the winter before, the castle having taken heavy damage. He kept his eyes on the looming forms of the towers as he made his way to the front steps. Memories of the burning rubble and screaming cries filled the air. He had to blink several times, trying to dissipate the ghostly figures of his classmates and professors battling against domineering black fiends.

Trudging up the front steps, he could almost make out the bloodied prone bodies scattered along the stony courtyards. He carefully picked his way around the pools of darkening blood he saw, his face turning an unattractive green. His heart hammered an erratic tattoo in his chest and he could feel the cold trails sweat had begun to leave beneath his light summer robes. His hand clenched around his wand, the trembling of his hand quite noticeable. His eyes scanned the area quickly as he hurriedly made his way to the tall carved steps.

He had almost succeeded in stumbling to the first step, his mind working overtime in a panicked state, when the deep sound of a throat being cleared caused him to come to a halt. His eyes, wild and flashing shot up to the dark figure on the top of the steps. Glowing green eyes, unfettered by glasses, met his. A smirk crossed the full lips of the man before him, his arms folded across his broad chest.

"So, it's true," his deep voice called out, sending more than one type of shiver over Draco's skin.

"Draco Malfoy has come back to Hogwarts."

The words, clear and challenging, reminded Draco sharply of his own statements along those lines so many years before. He stood there, looking up at his old school nemesis, much as Harry had been looking up at him. Even in his chaotic state, the irony was not lost on him.

His lips pulled back into a feral snarl, his eyes still held by those green orbs. Harry met him stare for stare, seemingly enjoying the challenge he presented. His hand, which had raised his wand at the sound of Harry's comment, dropped to his side. Quickly, he ascended the stairs, thankful for the break in his panic attack. He paused for but a moment, his glare deepening. Harry appeared unfazed.

"Potter," he bit out. "Sure you can handle being here without all your adoring fans?"

Harry's smirk grew until he threw back his dark unruly head in a laugh. His sun kissed neck stretched gracefully as he indulged in his merriment. The sound vibrated around them, bouncing off the walls of the great archway. Draco stood, confused and not more than a little irritated. His fist clenched around his wand, his knuckles white.

Then, as quickly as he had started, Harry snapped his mouth shut, his lips forming a firm line as his eyes darkened dangerously. "From the looks of it, Malfoy, you seem to be the one out of his league here," he said. "Fair warning: McGonagall wants us to play nice, and I'm willing to pretend. So stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. And we won't have any problems. Yeah?"

Draco, frozen in shock at the change in the man before him, said nothing at first. Finally, his eyes narrowed and he shoved past Harry, his shoulder hitting the other man's hard. "If anyone starts any trouble, Potter, it won't be me. Just remember- we aren't little kids any more," he warned.

Harry's smirk was back with a vengeance, accompanied by a look that make Draco's skin crawl. His eyes tore over Draco's lithe body, his white teeth flashing from behind his lips. He looked rather predatory. "No, Malfoy. I won't soon forget that." He licked his lips then spun on his heel. "Headmistress expects you in her office," he called over his shoulder, heading back down the entryway corridor.

Draco watched him go, his Muggle attire doing nothing to detract from his overall presence. Stunned, he felt as though a gauntlet had been thrown, and he had lost the first round. Thrown off his guard, he realized that this Harry was nothing like what he had expected. The man who had just … _checked him out? _

No, that couldn't be right. The ex-Gryffindor Golden Boy was just that-golden. The idea that he might be playing for his own team seemed too far fetched, even in Draco's eyes. He had to admit, the years had been incredibly kind to the dark haired man. His body, encased in his denims and button up shirt, looked well toned, with just the right kind of muscles in the right kind of places. His arse, which Draco had _not_ been looking at, was perfect, his legs long, giving him a grace that he had never had during their school years. His hair had grown longer, the waves still giving him that just shagged look, framing his masculine face just so.

Draco shook his head harshly. It would do him no good at all to even grant the slighted bit of leeway into those thoughts. Harry had plainly made it clear there was nothing remotely friendly between them. And that was the way it would stay. His shoulders set in determination, Draco began his journey to McGonagall's office. He made it about halfway there when the witch herself met him. She gave him a small smile, adding wrinkles to her already wizened face. She had aged somewhat dramatically since the war. Draco supposed they all had in some ways.

"I see Potter found you," she said. Draco dipped his head. "Good. Now please follow me, I will lead you to your rooms." She turned away, heading toward the dungeons. Draco followed with a roll of his eyes. He had spent the latter part of his childhood and teenage years in this part of the castle and knew it like the back of his fine pale hand. He smirked. There probably wasn't a soul alive who knew them better.

The cold bite in the air that flowed around them as they walked along was a welcome relief to the blond. Here…this was home. He had heard Potter describe the school as his home once, and thought him emotional and idiotic. But, as they stopped before the portrait hiding the door to his quarters, his lips slipped into a small smile.

"Your quarters are right through there, although, I suppose you know that. Once inside, it would be wise of you to set your password. The rest of your belongings have already been brought up by the elves. Settle in, and I will see you at dinner," McGonagall said.

Draco nodded politely, waiting until she had walked away before looking up at the portrait. "We haven't seen you around here lately, little Master. Your godfather was the last to darken my doors," the dark wizard said with a slight bow. Draco's nostrils flared as he smirked.

" Falco. I should hope so. He was the only the _real_ Potions Master in our time. Slughorn was a bumbling fool," he replied.

The portrait laughed heartedly. He nodded. "No arguments from me." Then he cocked his head to the side. "I've heard that you are sharing the lamplight as the novelties around here."

Draco's lips pulled back in an unkind snarl. "Potter. Yes, it seems I'm doomed to be left in his dust yet again."

Flaco gave Draco a strange look. "Trust me, I think that is the least of his worries right now." Then he snapped his mouth shut and swung open the door. "Just call out your password before you leave, yeah? I'll set it then."

Thrown off by the odd words and abrupt change of topic, Draco nodded, briskly entering his chambers. He looked around for a moment, lost in the memories of tea times spent with his godfather. It was with a sigh of relief when he saw that none of Severus personal effects were still inhabiting the softly lit room. He wasn't sure he could stand the sight of the older man's favorite goblet sitting upon the old end tables, or his dressing robe hanging over the end of the bed.

With a flourish of his wand, his satchel began unpacking. He sat down on the bed, watching his hands shake for a moment. It sickened him to think how badly coming back here was affecting him. How much more Gryffindor could he get? He shook his blond head with a dark chuckle.

The clock on the fireplace mantel in the living room chimed, and he realized he had better get to the Great Hall if he wanted to be on time for dinner. Not that he was hungry, or even particularly thrilled about being there. But courtesy demanded it. And he felt the tiniest bit of curiosity. Potter would no doubt be there. At least he would have some sort of entertainment, if nothing else.

The Great Hall lacked the sheer roaring of young voices. It had an almost empty feel to it, considering it held only a handful of adults. The long Head Table was arranged in a semi circle, allowing for the flow of conversations to take place uniformly. Draco hesitated for a moment, scanning the faces present. McGonagall had mentioned there were several he already knew. From his position in the entryway, he could make out, among the unfamiliar faces, the forms of Hagrid the great oaf, the small Charms Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout, her rotund body seemingly wider than when he had last seen her. They were all engaged in conversation with Neville Longbottom.

Draco had to pause. _Longbottom? _The disastrously idiotic Longbottom was a Professor here? He shook his head in surprise. He really had lost touch. Either that, of McGonagall was completely daft. Currently, he wasn't sure which was the more likely excuse.

He wandered closer to the table, noting right off the obvious absence of Potter. He scoffed. Of course Potter would feel he was too good for the time constricted rules.

Sashaying past the rest of the Professors, he sat gracefully in a seat just to the right of McGonagall. She dipped her head with an acknowledging nod and a slight smile. "I trust your accommodations are to your liking?" she inquired.

Draco placed a few items on his plate before returning her nod. "Yes, of course." He returned his attention to his plate, eating politely, while watching the entryway for any sign of Potter. Conversations ebbed and flowed around him, touching his ears, but not really sinking in. He chewed distractedly until he heard his name called. Eyes snapping into focus, he turned his head toward Longbottom and Sprout.

"Pardon?" he asked, resisting the urge to glare. He knew he need to play nice, not only with Potter, but with the rest of his colleagues, despite their constant nonsensical dribble.

Longbottom's eyes held his a moment before skittering away. Like most of his year mates, he too had grown up quickly, taking his place in the war. Surprisingly, Longbottom had proved himself to be formidable and brave, the cowering stammering little boy gone in the face of true evil. Draco had heard tales that it was the inept Gryffindor who had decapitated Voldemort's vicious snake after she delivered her killing blow to his godfather. In some ways, he was a bit grateful, and jealous. He would have liked to rip the snake asunder himself.

Yet, he had done nothing, really. Cowered in the castle, safe while the people he had bullied and berated showed more spine than any he had seen before. And it wasn't just the Gryffindors. No, even useless Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws like Looney Luna had shown their mettle. When it came down to it, they had proved they were the true heroes of the war.

He mentally shook his head, bring himself back to the present. Coming back here was serving to be one long trip down memory lane.

"I simply said hello, Malfoy," Longbottom repeated, redirecting his gaze to Draco's, his eyes not faltering for a minute. Here they were on common ground. And Draco could see that the man was not about to be intimidated again by the blond.

So he inclined his head. "Hello, Longbottom," he replied. "I was unaware you were a Professor here." He flashed a glance over to the Headmistress, communicating his annoyance at this tidbit being left out. She, however, was completely unimpressed.

Longbottom flushed slightly, then smiled. "Yeah, took the apprenticeship with Professor Sprout here two years ago. I'm teaching her first through third years."

Draco nodded absently. He really couldn't care less. "That's nice," he intoned, taking a bite of his bread. He was caught off guard when the younger man leaned towards him. He sat back a bit, a frown sitting on his peaked brow.

"Have you seen Harry yet?" Longbottom asked lowly.

Draco dropped his bread rather quickly and frowned. "I have. He _escorted_ me into the castle when I arrived. I must say, I was a bit surprised. I've heard he was missing."

Longbottom's eyes shuttered, his face suddenly slightly paler. "Y-yes. Something like that," he mumbled, then quickly turned back to Sprout.

Draco's frown grew deeper, his brow lined. What in the bloody hell was that all about?

* * *

The rest of dinner was silent for Draco. No one tried to engage him in conversation, and he made no attempts to rectify the situation. Quietly, he rose, throwing down his napkin. Nodding to those still lingering, he made his way out of the Great Hall and into the corridor. He paused there, wondering if he should simply head back to his chamber, or take a tour of the newly refurbished castle. Internally, he tangled with his curiosity, glancing down the empty halls.

A sudden cry and thud stole the decision out from underneath him. Quickly, he spun on his heel, wandering down the hall in the direction of the noise. He stopped sharply when he caught sight of a mop of unruly black hair and the toned body it belonged to, leaning against the wall. Potter stood there, his arm wrapped around his middle, his sun kissed skin paling. Even in the torchlight, Draco could see a light film of sweat shining on his skin. Potter's eyes were closed, his breathing a bit labored as if he had been running. His other hand raised, trembling as he shoved it through his mass of curls. A groan came from his lips.

Draco had no idea what to do. On the one hand, it would be all too easy to simply turn away, or better yet, deliver a scalding comment about Potter's weakness. It was almost expected of him, considering their history.

And yet, Longbottom's pinched expression when they had spoke of the man at dinner made him rethink things. There was something strange afoot, something to do with Potter's disappearance and his current position, Draco was sure. Besides, he had agreed to play nice.

So brushing his hair out of his eyes, he walked haughtily over to Potter's gasping form. His foot scraped across the stones, the sound echoing loudly down the hall. Potter's incredibly green eyes shot open and his was suddenly pinned with a deeply pained expression.

Harry jerked his body upwards, straightening his spine swiftly. His hands dropped down to his side and he sneered. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he snarled.

Draco almost took a step back, hearing the panicked, almost animalistic tone in Harry's voice. Then, his lip curled upwards into a smirk. "I thought I heard an animal of some sort sneaking around. Turns out I was right."

If his statement had any effect on the still shaking man before him, Harry didn't show it. Instead, he drew himself up, pushing away from the wall with a shake of his head.

"Whatever, Malfoy. Just stay out of my way," he growled.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Gladly, Potter. But you are in _mine _right now. Pretty brave of you to enter Slytherin territory, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "As you so graciously reminded me earlier, we aren't students anymore. Don't you think that line is a little old? I was sure you could do better. You've had several years to think up new material after all."

Draco's face grew red with anger, making his pointy features stand out that much more. His silver eyes heated to twin pools of liquid steel. "And just what are you implying, Potter?" he ground out through his clenched teeth.

Harry shrugged. "I'm implying nothing, Malfoy. Only making an observation. After all, it must have been nice to not have any responsibilities for so long. Nothing to do but lounge around your house and play the spoiled little prat you always have been."

Draco's wand was out and directed at Harry's throat instantly. "You know nothing of me, Potter. Nor of my life. Don't you dare pretend to."

Harry batted his hand away. "You're right, Malfoy. I don't. Let's keep it that way, yeah?" He turned, and began to walk away. His arm snaked back around his middle as he clutched at the fabric of his shirt. Draco could see his shoulders tense as he moved slowly, much too slowly, the opposite direction.

Once again, Draco was left, feeling he was playing a game he didn't know the rules to. His hand dropped down to the side, his eyes narrowing on the swaying body of his rival. Despite it all, he knew something wasn't right here. However, he couldn't bring himself to care enough to make pursuit. It wasn't his business after all.

"Stupid prat," he mumbled, heading off down the halls to the dungeons.

* * *

Draco didn't see Harry again for the rest of August. The man was either in hiding, or simply very good at avoiding all human contact. Despite the requirements that the Professors congregate in the Hall for dinner, Harry was continuously absent. If anyone noticed, they gave no indication. That and the strange looks Longbottom sometimes shot him, brought Draco's irritation to a peak. It was like their school days all over again. Potter got away with whatever he wanted, while the rest of them simply looked the other way.

Well, that may be fine for your everyday Joe. But for Draco, who had been squeezed and pressed into a mould of refinement and decorum, this lack of propriety rankled his sensibilities. If the rest of the staff had to be present for meals, Harry would be too.

By the end of his first week at Hogwarts, Draco had taken to roaming the halls in his spare time He told himself it was simply to relearn the lay of the land. But, in the very deepest part of his mind, he knew he was itching for another fight with the green eyed Savior.

There was something about Harry that could illicit the deepest of emotions in the blond, whether it be anger when he was shown up, or pride at besting him. Even in all the mess that was his marriage, his wife could not draw out such reactions. It infuriated him, that after all this time, he was not as immune to Harry sodden Potter as he should be. He was a Malfoy, a fact he had to keep reminding himself regularly lately. He had made a promise to himself, and he was in a good way of breaking it, he thought as he looked over at the empty chair on the left hand side of McGonagall.

His hand clenched around the stem of his wine goblet, the liquid delivering a slight burn to his throat as he drank it. The temptation to demand the reasons behind Harry's absences was great. So great that he found himself physically biting his tongue to curb the desire. His goblet slammed down on the table top with more force than he intended, drawing all eyes at the Head Table to him.

Lifting his head in a haughty manner, he moved to stand, intending to stride from the room with the surest of steps. His chair scraped across the stone floor, a loud screech sounding throughout the room. "Excuse me," he said, irritation lacing his voice. McGonagall's look was searching, but she said nothing, only nodding the briefest of nods. He didn't return it. For once he was in no mood to pretend pleasantries. He whirled around, only to bump chest to side into Potter. Potter angled a bit to the side, grabbing Draco's arm to keep them both balanced.

They stood there for a split second, Draco looking up at Harry with eyes that were wide in surprise. Harry's were strangely empty, the green so dark they were almost black. "You really should watch where you're going, Malfoy," Harry said.

Draco felt a shiver travel throughout his body, his eyes still locked on Harry's. Harry looked away, releasing his arm as he took a step back. His gaze drifted over to the Headmistress, an unspoken message traveling between them. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded to the rest of the staff.

"I'll just be going then. See you all in the morning," he said, his tone as emotionless as his eyes. Draco watched as he fled the room, waiting for only a moment before hurrying after him. It was about time the bloody git had a dressing down. And Draco was more than happy to deliver it.

The huge wooden doors swung open as he moved rapidly down the middle of the tables and out into the corridor. There he paused, looking around for the tale-tell black head. His heart hammered in anticipation of their fight, his hand already moving towards his wand.

He was to be disappointed, however. The hallway was empty, not a single sign of his prey anywhere. "Potter," he called, resorting to something he usually found to be barbaric. "I know you're still here. I have something I'd like to say to you." His voice traveled along the stone walls, echoing mockingly as no answer was forth coming. Frustrated, he yelled out again "Potter! Come out, you sodding coward." He knew it was a taunt that he would respond to. Harry hated being called a coward, it went against his Gryffindor grain.

He heard the shuffling of feet not more than a hundred feet away from him and smiled. Oh yes. He still knew how to get under his skin. His eyes scanned the dimly lit areas, waiting for the attack, verbal or magical that was sure to come. And waited…and waited. His ears strained for any sound that Harry was still there, finally zeroing in on the hiss of his breathing.

He advanced, ready to hurl another insult, anything to get a reaction from the once Golden Boy. His foot slipped slightly in something on the floor. With a quick scramble, he moved back, looking down. A dark puddle reflected the fiery torches lining the walls. The black liquid glowed with crimson highlights.

_Blood._ And from the looks of it, a fair amount had been spilt. His stomach turned sharply, his face a bit green.

"Potter?" he called once more. For the deep life force could have only come from one person. "Potter," he yelled a little louder. Silence was the only thing answering him. He gingerly stepped round the puddle, noticing the small drops that followed. Heading in the direction he had last head Harry's hiss of breath, his inclination to fight was suddenly forgotten. His footsteps echoed along the floor, his breathing harsh. He muttered a quick _Lumos_, waving his wand around to dispel the shadows. He found them to be empty. Frowning with annoyance, and perhaps a small amount of worry, he reached out his hand.

_"Stop,"_ he heard a whisper right beside him. He froze, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he spun around, the lighted tip of his wand directly in the face of one Neville Longbottom.

The young man's face was drawn into a tightly formed frown, making him look years older. Draco jerked away, wrenching his shoulder out of Longbottom's hold.

"What in the bloody hell was that?" he yelled, furious. Longbottom cast him a quick look before training his eyes on the trail of blood. As quickly as he was there, he was walking away, following Harry's blood.

"Wait," Draco cried, his long legs keeping in stride with Longbottom's. "What's going on?"

Neville threw him a dark look. "Sod off Malfoy, this doesn't concern you," he replied.

Draco came to a halt. He was right. What in the world was he thinking, acting like he actually wanted to know what was wrong with Potter? A smirk marred his face and he backpedaled. "So you've become Potter's nursemaid, have you? Figures. Bloody pair of ponces." Neville said nothing, instead walking farther ahead. Draco whirled around, ready to flounce off.

He had made it a few steps away when he heard Neville's low voice. He paused, listening.

"Harry? Harry, are you there?"

There was a hissing sound again, causing Draco to melt into the shadows, his eyes glued to Longbottom's back and the area around him. He had to wonder if Harry was speaking in parseltounge. Mind warring again, he reasoned that he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing. They knew a thing or two about sneaking around. His sixth year had proven that aptly. And wasn't it a good thing to know as much as you could about your enemy? Potter's weaknesses could only serve to give Draco the upper hand.

It had nothing to do with that little piercing feeling of worry striking his chest. Malfoys most certainly didn't worry about anyone who wasn't their own. And Potter was by no means a Malfoy, or a friend. No, this was purely for selfish reasons.

Satisfied that he had managed to quell the pang in his chest, he quieted his breathing, intent on eavesdropping on the two ex-Gryffindors.

"Harry?" Neville called again.

"I'm here, Nev," came the quiet reply. Draco growled in his throat. So the stupid man had been there the whole time! He was merely ignoring Draco.

"What did you do, Harry? All the blood; it's happened again, hasn't it?" Neville asked, the concern apparent in his tone.

Draco raised a brow. _Again? _He remained silent as Neville took a few steps forward, his hand reaching out in front of him. He heard a wet cough and then the sound of something being spat on the floor. He grimaced. Merlin, what manners.

"I'll be okay, Nev. Just get me out of here," Harry said. He sounded exhausted, his tone horribly raspy.

"Harry, you promised you wouldn't," Neville admonished.

Harry let out a wet sigh. "I know," he replied.

"You know it will only shorten…"

"I know!" Harry said harshly, his voice sharp. "Don't you think I don't know that? I didn't mean to. It's reflexive."

"But…" Neville began.

"No."

"There's that potion…"

"I said no. Just…please Nev. Just help me get back to my rooms, alright," Harry's voice had dropped off to a whisper and Draco saw the flash of a pale thin hand. It looked almost transparent. His eyes narrowed. It was quite a contrast compared to earlier that evening.

Neville took a deep breath and disappeared into the dark shadows surrounding Harry. "Alright, Harry. Alright." He sounded so defeated, and Draco knew instantly this wasn't something new to him; they had had this discussion before. Curiosity was gnawing at his belly. He shifted slightly, determined to pursue the duo.

A flash of light and the white hot pain of a Stinging hex whipped through his body. He froze, his body trembling slightly.

"I thought I told you to sod off, Malfoy," Longbottom called out from the darkness. "I meant it. Get on with you. Now."

Draco had never heard Neville sound like that, so deadly serious, and in his shock, he stepped backwards, tripping in his haste to get away. He stumbled, spinning ungracefully on his heels before taking off in the opposite direction. His legs shook a bit from the nettle-like stings still rippling over his nerve endings. It wasn't until he was safe inside his own chambers, did he realize he had obeyed the command of Longbottom, the witless wonder.

Oh how far the mighty had fallen.


	2. Chapter 2 Under My Skin

Disclaimer: Still not mine. Even Flaco belongs to JKR.

A/N: My apologies for taking so long in updating. I have gone through and been re-writing the entire thing. As much as I love this story line, it wasn't flowing for me. I think I finally have a handle on it, so hopefully updates won't be so far apart. Reviews are much appreciated. Thanks to those who have review/fav/alert this.

* * *

_**Chapter 2 Under My Skin**_

_September 1__st__ 2005_

Draco wasn't too surprised when the morning came quickly, and with it, the dim coldness of his quarters. Last night's bizarre events had plagued him long after he had thrown himself into his bed. Sleep evaded all his attempts to capture it. He had tossed and turned, falling into a restless sleep just before the dawn. It was to his advantage that the dungeons were without windows. He wasn't sure he could stand the bright sunlight that was sure to blind him the moment the sun rose.

Burying himself back under his down comforter, he groaned heavily. It was the first day of term, and the students would be arriving tonight. He took a moment, stretching his lithe body, and reflected on his first journey across the lake in those little boats. He had been just as wide eyed and excited as the next child, Slytherin bound or not. At that moment, they were all equals, all unsure of their paths.

Well, perhaps not. Draco had known where he would be placed right from the start. His father had driven the House of Slytherin principles deeply into his little son's head. And he had taken them to heart. He know who to talk to and who to avoid. Which family to suck up to, and whom to taunt.

Then he met little Harry Potter, and it was all shot to hell. Potter didn't fit in any of the preconceived separated classes. By all respects, he should have been avoided. He was scruffy and thin, a real ruffian. He carried an air of innocent fascination, as if he knew nothing of the world around him and was tasting the finest chocolate for the first time, having been deprived of even the smell of it before.

It confused little Draco. The boy with the green eyes stood there, a shy serene smile on his face as he was fitted for his school robes along side the Malfoy heir, quietly trying not to squirm. Draco found himself intrigued. His father had never instructed him about class-less people. Was Harry off limits, then? Or fair game? Taking a chance, he spoke to the other little boy, imparting knowledge that his father had told him was imperative to surviving in their world.

At first, the green eyed boy was curious, and responded well. Draco was pleased. Here was someone with potential. He could almost taste the magic rolling off of his tiny frame.

And then, Draco made the monumental mistake that would stay with him clear down to this day. He saw Hagrid, the oaf, as his father had sneeringly called him just a few hours prior. He copied that sneer, pasting it onto his face and narrowed his eyes.

"Stupid man. My father says that great oaf should have been put down long ago. People like him are nothing more than animals," he said. He heard a gasp next to him and turned his gaze to his companion. The hurt and anger he saw flaring there was breathtaking. Harry stood there, his little body taunt and rippling with magic.

"That's not true!" Harry had cried, his little fist clenched tight. "Hagrid's a good person. He's my friend!" He hopped off the stool and practically ran from the store.

Draco remained where he was, frozen. Now what? Again, he found his Malfoy training failing him. He had the feeling he had just lost something very valuable. Shaking his head, he had barked at the woman helping him to hurry it up. He had places to be, and a father to question.

As it turned out, his alienation of the little boy served to enrage his father. He closed his slate eyes with a groan and lost himself in the memories.

"_Have you any idea who that was?" Lucius growled, his snake headed cane thumping on the floor of their sitting room. Draco had enlightened Lucius of his encounter with the little boy in the robe shop as soon as he had arrived back at the Manor. _

_The reaction his father gave was nothing like what he had expected. Where was the haughty laughter and the praise for evading a disastrous friendship? Being reprimanded- this puzzled him._

"_But Father, he was no one. A half wit wizard being friends with a no wit halfbreed. I only told him what you told me. How is that wrong?" Draco whined._

_Lucius looked down his nose at his son, his hand flexing around the head of his cane. Draco gulped, knowing what secrets the cane held. "That half wit, as you called him, is none other than Harry Potter."_

_Draco's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in an ungraceful expression. "Potter? As in __**the**__ Potter?"_

_Lucius nodded briskly. "Yes, Draco. Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He is very important in our world. It would be wise of us to obtain his trust." His Father's eyes glittered dangerously as he pinned his little son with a dark look. "You will fix this, Draco."_

_Draco bowed his head in acknowledgment. Ever the faithful puppet, he promised to gain Harry Potter as his lackey, if nothing else._

"Damnation," Draco growled as he pulled himself from his memories and stumbled from his bed. He cast a _Tempus_ spell, groaning again when he saw it was well past the morning meal. He was unaccustomed to rising at an early hour, preferring to take his mornings late, and slow. That would have to change, he supposed. No more lazing about. Then again, that was the point of this whole venture anyway.

Trudging his way to his bathroom, leaving his clothes in a trail along the way, he spelled the shower on. The steam from the water rose, clouding the room. With a satisfied moan, he stepped in under the spray, indulging in the warmth and rich feeling of relaxation that came over him. His expensive shampoo and soaps were a luxury he refused to give up, no matter where he was. He lingered as long as he could under the water, letting the aroma wash away his worries. It was with regret that he finally turned off the water and stepped out into the steam riddled room.

He hummed a little while drying off, swiping his hand across the fogged mirror before muttering the spell to keep it defogged. He was finding there were little things around his quarters that had been neglected since Snape had vacated them. Spells and charms like that made everyday living easier. Standing before the mirror, he took a few moments to look over his features.

He was vain, he knew and freely admitted it. How could someone who looked like him not be? His pale skin melted over his face in just the right way. His hair, still silvery blond, flowed around his head, framing it in a halo that caught the light. The luminescent strands were easy to maintain, and looked to be made of spun silk. His eyes, glinting steel, bore into his reflection. They were alive, filled with expression.

_Unlike Potter's._

He shivered, quickly finishing his task of drying off. The expressionless look in Potter's great green orbs has been disconcerting to say the least. They looked dead, haunted, hidden to everyone and everything. Even directly after the war, Harry's eyes had not looked so. What had happened to drive the Man Who Conquered into such a state?

And the blood. Oh he couldn't forget about that. Why was there blood? Why had Longbottom said it had happened _again_? What was going on? And why did he even care? He snorted grimly. It appeared his obsession with Potter had not diminished over the years as he had previously thought. Again, his thoughts were filled with the bane of his existence.

Annoyed, he stomped out of the bathroom, and dressed hurriedly. If he was lucky, he might make it in time for the noon meal. Pulling on his robes, he ran one hand through his hair a final time before vacating his quarters. Flaco nodded in greeting as Draco stepped through his door.

"A bit late today, I see," the portrait commented with a smirk.

Draco returned it in kind. "Not like I missed much," he replied.

Flaco shook his head with a chuckle. "You never know," he said cryptically.

Draco paused, a searching look on his face. "You portraits talk amongst yourselves, don't you?" he asked.

Flaco nodded. "Of course. Could you imagine a thousand years without company?"

"So, it stands to reason you might know if something was happening, say in the DADA classroom… or surrounding rooms?" he questioned slyly.

Flaco curled his lip. "I might. What's it to you, though? You and Mr. Potter aren't exactly friends."

Draco shook his head. "No, we're not. But I saw something last night, something strange." He shrugged, leaving Flaco to draw his own conclusions.

"Ah, the old 'keep your friends close and enemies closer' bit. Very astute of you, Mr. Malfoy," Flaco concluded, admiration high in his tone, although his eyes were narrowed in an appraising way.

Draco tossed his head and preened. "Slytherin," he replied as if it explained everything. For them, it did.

Flaco nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. I do know that there is something going on. But as to what, it isn't my place to say."

A pout formed on Draco's lips. "If not yours, than whose? I thought you would be in my corner here."

Laughing, Flaco waved a hand around. "It's not about sides, young dragon. But rather who is more likely to gain something from all this. And you, unfortunately, are on the losing end this time. If you want to know, I suggest you go to the source."

Draco scoffed openly, his eyes wide. "What? Go to Potter? That'll be the day." He shook his head vehemently. "No, if you won't help me, I'll just have to suss it out myself, I guess." He turned his back on the portrait, annoyed. He was no closer to discovering the truth behind Potter's mysterious appearance here, and the events of last night, than he had been when he woke up this morning. Frustrated, he barely resisted the urge to ruffle his hands through his perfect hair.

Puffing out his chest in irritation, he gracefully moved along the corridors until he was out of the dungeons and well on his way to the Great Hall. He paused a moment, reveling in the last few moments of silence. It was only hours away until these halls and the castle were filled with the racket of hundreds of little feet and shouts of giggling brats. He took a deep breath, cleansing his mind and the last bits of stress tensing his body. Whatever that was the matter with Potter would have to wait. He had allowed himself to be obsessed with the young man before, only to find it detrimental to his very purpose. That could not happen again.

Besides, Potter, the spotlight mongering prat, would not be allowed the satisfaction of knowing he had any effect on the Malfoy heir. Once again, he reminded himself that he was here to do his job.

With renewed determination, he quietly lower himself into his chair, glancing down the tables at the other Professors gathered for the noon meal. There were less than he anticipated; although, he supposed they were probably completing last minute details in preparation for tonight. A smug grin crossed his face. He may be a manipulative and underhanded man, but he was by no means lazy minded. His lesson plans and the new rules for his House had been finished days ago. He had thrown himself into them as a way to keep his mind off Potter.

Again, he found himself skimming the occupants, looking for that shock of black hair, or those deep green eyes. Unsurprisingly, there were none. However, to his puzzlement, Longbottom too was absent. Was Potter's predicament so dire that Longbottom was required to aid him still? He frowned, deeply lost in his thoughts.

A touch on his arm brought him back to reality quickly, and he scowled. Catching the disapproving look McGonagall was giving him, he school his features into a mask of indifference, focusing his attention back on her.

"I trust you are completely prepared for this evening, Professor Malfoy," she said with her deep brogue.

He nodded curtly. "Of course, Headmistress. You received my finished plans, did you not?"

She too nodded. "Yes. I must say, you have some high ambitions. I do hope you are not too disappointed if your students should fall short."

Draco sneered. "If they do, than they will just have to work harder, won't they? Like Professor Snape, I won't permit laziness."

McGonagall chuckled. "No, I should hope not. However, remember that we are striving for unity here. Playing favorites will not be tolerated." She held up her hand, halting any protest Draco might have made. "I know Severus had his reasons, and the times called for it. But we live in a different era. Our students need to feel accepted, even by their Potions Master."

Draco flushed and ducked his head. "Of course, Headmistress," he replied, turning back to his meal, his body stiff with exasperation. "I shall make every effort to help even the dimmest of minds shine." He bit his tongue slightly, stemming the rest of his words. Really, what did she think of him? For the first time since accepting her offer, he had to wonder if prejudice really had been left behind.

Uneasiness ate at his nerves, kill his appetite. He toyed with his glass a moment. "Headmistress, have you seen Potter around today? I had an idea I wanted to run by him."

McGonagall said nothing, but he noticed the tightening of her fingers around her fork. She shook her head. "Professor Potter has taken ill today. But he assured me he would be ready for classes tomorrow. Perhaps you can catch him after his last class?" she suggested.

Draco suddenly understood that Potter would not be at the Welcoming Feast either. His nose flared and his lips curled into a cruel smirk. _Still allowing him to bend the rules? _He smoothed his expression into a look of compassion. "Oh? I hope it is nothing serious. We don't have to worry about another Lupin, do we?" he asked.

The Headmistress paled. "No, nothing like that. Just a summer bug, Madame Pompfrey assured me." Then her gaze darkened. "Not that it concerns you, Professor. His absence should not affect your classes."

Draco seized upon the opening. "Oh, but you see, Headmistress, if he agrees to my proposal, they might."

Narrowing her eyes, the older witch frowned. "Enlighten me."

"I thought, after the students have settled in, that Professor Potter and I might combine a few of the upper years' classes. As the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor, I thought he might want to demonstrate the practical uses of some of our potions." He couldn't believe how easy it was to lie to her. He had simply come up with the excuse on the fly. But, by the thoughtful look in her eyes, he could see she was seriously considering the idea.

_Well, it would certainly serve my purpose in the long run._

McGonagall finally bobbed her head. "A wise proposal, Professor Malfoy. I shall speak to Professor Potter about it. I don't see why, under your joint supervisions, something like that could not be done beneficially. Well done," she said, smiling her praise.

Draco gave her a token smile in return, rejoicing inwardly that he still had his Slytherin wits about him. With his scheme now underway, he excused himself from the table, deciding to take the last few moments of silence and relax. The evening would be hellish, no matter how smoothly it might flow along.

The hours passed by quickly, and soon night had fallen upon the castle. Draco took extra care with his attire, making sure he commanded respect and attention by both his peers and soon to be students. The majority of the houses tended to be either oblivious to subtle displays of wealth, or in the case of Ravenclaws, simply didn't care.

Slytherin was different, always had been. They, with their cunning eyes, knew how a show of simple, but rich fabric, and highlights of glinting gems in family rings went far in establishing the strength of a hierarchy. It had been that way during Draco's own reign as the Slytherin Prince, and he knew, as Head of House, he had to set the trend with absolute iron grace.

This was a new era, he knew. However, prejudice had not changed as much as the idealistic minds like Granger and McGonagall would like to think. Rather, it was more discreet, slights and slurs masterfully given by expert tongues. Draco was used to it. His students, especially those who would be sorted into his house, might not be. Hence, to form a strong front of security amongst peers, he must lead by example. His students tonight, would understand that he understood their trials, and was here to support them from the wanna-be antics of likeminded people like the Weasleys and Potters. Surveying himself in the mirror, he gave a satisfied nod at his immaculate and rich appearance. His robes were dark green, shot through with the tiniest threads of silver, signifying his loyalties. They folded and formed just right to his lithe form, accentuating his musculature. His fair hair fell in perfect waves, glowing in the light.

He looked good, and he knew it. As an after thought, he lamented the absence of his foe. Potter surely looked like a worn out rag next to him. He had rarely observed Harry in clothes that fitted his form, the few exceptions being his Muggle attire as of recent encounters. He had to admit, the dark haired man looked exceptionally well in those tight fitted jeans and shirts. With a light blush, he pushed such offensive thoughts away and clasped his outer robes closed.

It was show time.

* * *

The din in the Great Hall was louder than he could remember in latter years. As this was the first year Hogwarts had reopened its doors since the end of the war, the crowd gathered was substantially large. What Draco had not expected was the fair number of parents that had accompanied their wide eyed prodigies. It was ridiculous- his oversight, he thought. Of course concerned parents would want to see the rebuilt school and meet the Professors who would be molding their young ones minds.

Slightly annoyed that no on had thought to mention this before tonight, Draco scowled. Surely this impromptu meet-and-greet had been discussed before? Had he been so focused on his _not_ obsessing over Potter that he had missed such vital information? With a shake of his head and a glance at a few passing Professors, Draco made his was to his chair at the High Table. He paused here and there to shake a few hands and give the customary Malfoy icy look with a hand out in welcome. The effect was something akin to awe mixed with apprehension. Just as he reckoned it should be. Pleasantries aside, he strode up to his chair and sat down gracefully. With a short nod in McGonagall's direction, and a pointed sneer at Longbottom, he waited patiently for the Sorting to begin.

This year was unique, as most students, and not just the first years, were new to Hogwarts, transferring in from other schools. The few veterans had been first years when the war had decimated the school, their numbers much less than the new arrivals. Of the over 500 students, only 25 of those were established Slytherins, and Draco couldn't say he accurately recalled even one. Those had been dark times, and his focus had been on staying alive, instead of befriending silly little brats.

Now, he marveled at his stupidity. For surely those slighted students would remember him and his harsh attitude. His actions henceforth must be of sly redemption. And as Slytherin, the likelihood of them understanding the message he was wishing to subtly get across should be delivered thus.

It was gratifying, therefore, when those handful of returning students already established in his house, gave him a through once-over and then as one, nodded their collective heads. He could see the faint envy and silent hungry appraisal of some, while others simply showed their acceptance with a raised brow or a smirk. _Good to know the usual tendencies are still intact,_ Draco reflected, having shown such expressions himself on more than one occasion.

He watched as the students fell in line, awaiting anxiously for their sorting. The hat still looked as bedraggled as ever, its wrinkled and haughty face sneering at each student whom cautiously approached it. Draco was slightly surprised the old thing had survived the war, honestly. He found himself swept back into memories of his own sorting, how the hat hadn't even touched his blond slicked back locks before loudly proclaiming him a snake. He had never been so proud then he was in that moment.

Until the hat called out _"Gryffindor"_ for Potter, that is. His stomach had sunk at that time, realizing he had no real chance at gaining any favor with the black haired child. It was a sting that had begun on the train when his hand had been refused. The rivalry and anger the came with their house distinctions boiled up in him. He had cast a envious eye at Potter's table, annoyed with the easy laughter the younger boy was already engaging in. It should have been him, instead of that stupid ginger head. Harry could have benefited muchly from Draco's tutelage, if only the scarred boy hadn't been so self-righteous.

It was a wound that smarted even now, the situation only becoming more volatile throughout their school years. Only with the ending of the war had their relationship came to naught. It had left a hole in Draco's life, one he had not realized what there until he had seen the man standing on the top of the stairs days ago.

Suddenly, he found himself at a cross roads of sorts. And he had no idea what to do.

Cheering roared through the hall as the sorting wrapped up. Turning his attention back to his house table, he saw that there was no less than one hundred shining faces looking back at him. It may not have been the large group like in his school days, but it was a good start. He noted that the house was evenly spilt between Purebloods and Half bloods and Muggle-borns. He glanced over at McGonagall. She appeared to be watching the happenings with great satisfaction. The unity that she spoke of, while he had thought would be impossible, didn't seem so far fetched now.

And if these three groups could share a house where Purebloods had ruled for the greater part of a thousand years, then maybe the past could really be just that. Maybe, just maybe he could mend his nonexistent relationship with the one person he had always wanted in his life.

Maybe Potter would finally be his.

Shaking his head, he acknowledge that his wishful think hinged on two very stark realities. One- he had yet to see how his snakes would indeed interact with each other in the comfort of their own common room. While presenting as seamless front in the eyes of others, he knew rivalries and cliques could easily develop behind closed doors. With a look of ice and the clench of his jaw, he determined that it would not happen under his watch. For once, Slytherin would be united within as well as without.

The second realization was much harder to swallow. No matter his feelings on the situation, his relationship with Harry relied on the man being receptive to his advances. And that he simply couldn't see happen, not without a fair amount of work. The black haired man had made it amply clear what he thought of Draco.

Draco sighed, completely ignoring the speech the Headmistress was delivering. His scheme to work with Harry was a good start, he knew. But he needed a way to convince Harry that his wish for reconciliation was sincere.

Again, his thoughts threw him for a loop. This morning, his plan had been far from pleasant, more of a way to find the string that would undo the younger man. Now, as he watched Longbottom slide from his seat with a worried look, he had to wonder if perhaps he understood less about himself than he thought. He prided himself on being in tune with his own wants and desires. At this moment, however, he felt out of sorts, concerned for the well-being of his rival, and somewhat ill at the sentimental emotion.

He gave a short groan. Damn Potter and his ability to turn Draco's world completely upside down. Confusion warred with disdain within his mind, and he found himself staring out across the Great Hall, blindly. A whispered word from McGonagall brought him back to the present. Hastily, he noticed it was the end of the meal. With a nod that pointedly ignored her questioning glance, Draco rose from his seat, beckoning to his prefects, and leading his snakes out of the huge room and down into their humble abodes.

Leaving the rules speech for the morning, he simply welcomed his wide eyed Slytherin and bid them a good night. Their quiet chatter filled the room as he left it, seeking solace in his own quarters. As the shadows of the fire flickered across the walls, he allowed the lull in noise to calm his frazzled mind, relaxing with a book for a while.

Tomorrow would bring the start of classes, and the beginnings of his plan as well. And Merlin knew how either would turn out.


End file.
